Monday, February 7, 2011

Walk of Shame…

There was a time when I was wild for a performance artist.  Wild.  He (Rupert) was 14 years younger than me.  And in a relationship when we first met.  Actually the mutual friend who introduced us told me that Rupert was either recently single or in a relationship that was ending…soon.  Honestly, you're either in or you're out and all of this should have immediately added up to DO NOT GO THERE.  But I did.  Of course.

At first, we were just flirting.  Harmless.  Super fun.  I mean flirting is delicious!  And he was gonna be available…soooooon.  (I cringe at this thought and the energy/sentiment behind it now.)

The flirting went on for a while.  All the things we couldn't do were discussed.  Someday was discussed.  And then…Yes.  They broke up.  And I thought, TIME FOR ME!  However, Rupert was thinking something more like, TIME FOR ALL LADIES.

Shortly after the break-up Rupert was scheduled to perform out of town.  Coincidentally I had work out of town…in the same town.  D.C.  Nice.  He sort of knew I was going to try come see his show, but wasn't positive.  I was pretty sure I was gonna make it (no question, definitely, but trying to maintain some semblance of cool).  It all sounds wrong already, right?  Right.

I wore stiletto boots, jeans and a light green, backless sequin top.  It was unseasonably warm, I was unseasonably fabulous.

So, off to the show.  I was incredibly nervous and saw him before he went on.  He was happy to see me, but slightly standoffish with a dash of inconvenienced.  These are signs that I hope I would recognize today.  But back then, my brain was like a freight train that neither Chris Pine or Denzel could have derailed. 

I saw Rupert perform.  I thought he was brilliant (of course).  After the show I joined him and a crowd at a nearby bar.  He introduced me to a 'friend,' a woman.  I picked up some vibe immediately and just as quickly pushed it away.  Drinks were had, topics discussed and I kept trying to size up Rupert’s ‘friend.’  It dawned on me that the 'friend' he introduced me to might actually be with him.  Then slowly through the haze of the late hour and cocktails I realized it was a competition.  It was going to be her (Frieda the ‘friend’) or me.

The other revelers drifted off slowly, one by one and suddenly the three of us were the only ones left and in the lobby of Rupert's hotel.  I can’t really remember how we got there.  And interestingly enough, Frieda was staying in the hotel as well.  Surprise?  No.  And I said something genius like, "Should I stay and hang out, or is it time for me to go?"  Rupert said something like, "It's probably time for you to go."  So I left.  Feeling like an absolute idiot.  Fool.  Fool.  Fool. 

I caught a cab and sat quietly while my brain melted.  After 10 minutes, I of course called Rupert.  I left a very hurt/angry message.  (But wasn't this just as much my fault?  Of course.  But I was feeling VERY injured.)  While I harangued on, Rupert called back.  I picked up.  He suggested that maybe I should come back to the hotel and hang out.  Ha!  Genius.  I hung up and asked the cab driver to turn around and take me back to where he'd just picked me up.  For a moment I was sure the cabbie had never experienced anything like this ever, then I realized that was one of the most naive thoughts I'd ever had in my life.

I got back to Rupert's hotel and he and Frieda were doing bong hits.  They offered me a hit.  I declined.  (A very smart move on my part.  Perhaps the only smart move of the night.)  Frieda hopped out the window to sit on the fire escape and smoke a cigarette.  I guess it's OK to smoke pot in the room, but regular cigs are restricted to the outdoors.  We all hung out for a while, I can't even remember exactly what we discussed, possibly Rupert's brilliance and the fact that I had a pedicure and Frieda didn't.  As you can imagine, it was really elevated conversation.

FYI, Frieda did NOT like me.  But I didn’t like her either.

At one point, I stood in the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror and said out loud, "What are you doing here?  You've got to leave."  This was all stupid and should have been happening to someone else.  I didn't do this kind of thing.  She wanted him.  I wanted him.  He was loving it.  You know he was hoping for a threesome…

I came out of the bathroom and Frieda had fallen asleep.   Rupert patted the spot next to him on the bed.  I cozied up and we looked at digital pictures taken of his performance earlier that evening.  Wow.  And yes, Rupert and I started making out.  While Frieda was asleep at the end of the bed.  This went on for a while and I'm not sure why, but maybe I was coming to my senses (probably not) or one of us needed to use the bathroom, but we were standing when Frieda woke up (THANK GOD).  I think she must have overheard what we were saying – some inane sexy talk for sure.  She sat up, walked to the door, turned to Rupert and said, "You're awful.  You're an asshole."  Then she started to sob and left.

Ok.  Yes, Rupert is an asshole (I found out later he’d slept with her the night before).  Unfortunately, I’m was an asshole in this scenario as well.

And what did Rupert decide to do after Frieda ran out of the room sobbing?  Chase after her of course while saying over his shoulder, "Is there any way I can make this up to you when I get back to L.A.?" 

So there I was.  In the hotel stairwell as Rupert pounded up the steps after Frieda.  By now it was 8AM.  I had a plane to catch and needed to get back to my hotel, pack and get to the airport.  I had no idea if I was going to make it.

I went outside to hail a cab, but it was morning drive time.  Absolute Friday morning rush hour.  Not a cab to be had.  And it was sooooo cold (the unseasonable warmth of the night before had disappeared).  So I only had one option - to walk the mile back to my hotel through the financial district in my backless sequin top and stiletto boots.  Everything about me screamed One Night Stand (and I hadn't even gotten lucky, thank god.)  It was my most obvious Walk Of Shame amidst the hustle and bustle of suits on their way to work (walks before, and possibly after, have included only short dashes to and from my car…or maybe a cab).  There was no end to the sidelong glances and knowing smiles.  I was so cold and so uncomfortable but walked with purpose - as if I thought I was fabulous.  My Sex And The City Moment.

And I barely made it to the airport.  As I approached the gate limping, the flight attendant asked why my stiletto boots were clutched in my hand.  I handed her my boarding pass and said,  "Wrong shoes.  Long walk.  Wrong night." 

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